


Harry Potter and the Witches of the House of Ill Repute

by hippocrates460



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ace!Marlene, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical mentions of child-abuse, Consensual Surprise Adoption, F/F, Queer Parenting, Trans!Emmeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23145145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippocrates460/pseuds/hippocrates460
Summary: "One for the money, two for the show, three to make ready and four to go."If bygoyou mean disrupt all the carefully laid plans in order to be good and kind to someone in need. That's just how they do it.A story of how three becomes four, and how love is essential, and some very fictionalized accounts of what it might be like to run a sex shop.
Relationships: Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes/Emmeline Vance
Comments: 21
Kudos: 38
Collections: HP Triad!Fest





	Harry Potter and the Witches of the House of Ill Repute

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you endlessly to my cheer readers, beta readers, sensitivity readers, and the group chat who came through when summoned, as I knew they would. 
> 
> Based Prompt #10 by CheekyTorah  
> Pairing: Dorcas/Marlene/Emmeline  
> Prompt: Someone’s Trans, someone’s gay and someone’s Ace. Go!

Emmeline Vance is never quite sure why she gets called in to do things. But she always goes. This time the summons comes in the form of a Patronus that relays a cryptic message, which allows her to pick up a note that immediately after reading self-destructs.

So on a Saturday in July, she leaves Dorcas and Marlene in front of the fire with a kiss each, and Floos to the first location, Apparates to the next, and walks a bit further. “We’ll take a Portkey there once we’re all here,” Moody says, and she almost rolls her eyes. Everything goes off without a hitch, and soon she’s home again. Between Dorcas’ legs in front of the fire.

Dorcas plays with her hair. “And then,” Emmeline adds, outraged in a way she hasn’t been in ages, “they put his things in the cupboard under the stairs, and there was a bed in there!”

“Muggles don’t have house-elves,” Marlene frowns as she says it. She’s tucked up on the sofa, holding her steaming mug.

“No they bloody well don’t!” Emmeline huffs. 

Dorcas touches her ear and face, and Emmeline moves her hand back to her hair. “Sorry,” Dorcas says.

“No, it’s not – I’m fine.” Emmeline promises. “Just. And I know you don’t mind but – ”

“Potter,” Marlene says. Back on track.

“Yes.” She leans back to look at Dorcas, who smiles down at her. “You should’ve heard him, all of them! The Muggles are horrible this, no one loves me that, like Dumbledore just left him there to rot. I have never met a single person who looked as utterly neglected.”

“But, any bruises, any sign of?” Marlene leans in a little.

“Who knows.” She shrugs, deeply disgusted. “Especially with the whole tournament. And then I asked when he’d leave there and they said he’ll spend the rest of the summer in that depressing hell hole of a – ” It’s a secret. And she won’t tell. “I don’t want to just let this happen, and I tried to talk to them, but even Molly wouldn’t hear of doing anything.”

“Then let’s not,” she hears, and when she looks up Dorcas’ eyes are shining. “We’ll – we’ll confound them all. Bring him here.”

“Yes!” Marlene jumps up. “Not like we ever use the spare, no one needs to know.”

“You’re insane,” Emmeline says. “Are you suggesting we abduct the boy who lived?”

“Like you have a better idea,” Marlene challenges. And it’s true, she doesn’t.

She finds Potter in the uncannily neat garden. The wards still accept her, even Disillusioned, after all, that’s how she followed him here after he was picked up at King’s Cross. “You have one chance,” she says, knowing she’ll scare him and wanting him to understand in the perhaps thirty seconds she has until somebody notices. “To decide whether you’d rather go home with me or stay with your relatives.”

“You,” he says, at the same time that she proves she is actually Emmeline Vance by saying: “I’m a member of the order – I believe you about You-Know-Who. I was there when the fake Moody was unmasked.”

He blinks twice, like he has actually lost all sense of self preservation, and then says: “Yeah. You.”

They walk away quickly, but she makes sure to nod over her shoulder to Dorcas and Marlene. They’re disguised as an old Muggle couple because even though Marlene hates the fake moustache, both of them refused to go into the murky ethics of stealing hair from Muggles for Polyjuice. Anyway, no time to brew, too risky to buy. She sees Dorcas walk up to the front door, which is opened by the angry one and knows it’ll be done. No murky ethics for abusive Muggles. They’d all agreed.

Emmeline hands Potter the hat she’s brought, and he puts it on without question. They walk fast, but not so fast that they’ll attract attention, and before Emmeline knows it, they are walking through the main shopping street of Little Whinging.

When they’d been planning this mission – Operation Abduction as Marlene insists on calling it – it was three in the morning and they were all tipsy. That was two days ago. But even this morning at their kitchen table, sober and facing the cold reality of what they were about to do, they’d had to admit that there isn’t anywhere closer to Potter’s house, with a fireplace they can Floo from, than The Closet. She urges him down the stairs, waves at the bartender when they pass, and pushes him through the hallway to the little meeting room she’s booked.

“Out!” She demands, before she’s even fully registered who is making the slobbering noises in the dark, and two heads fly up, four eyes stare at her. “You heard me!” They scramble to leave, and Potter looks like he’s been slapped in the face.

“But,” he sputters. “That’s?”

“The House of Ill Repute,” she says, as she starts the fire. He stares at her. “No no, that’s the Floo address. This is a bar called The Closet, which is ridiculous because it implies the fun doesn’t start until you leave but it isn’t my business, please! Go.” Potter still just blinks stupidly. “Do you not know how to use a Floo?”

He turns to the fireplace, grabs the little urn from the mantle, takes a handful of powder, and states his destination clearly. She sighs in relief, and follows him.

Dorcas and Marlene Apparated, and greet them when Emmeline prods Potter on through to the kitchen. Dorcas is still in her old-lady dress but Marlene is in pyjamas with hair still wet from a recent shower. It’s a darker red like this, neatly combed so it’ll dry straight. No more mustache to distract from the scars she still bears. “You’re here!” she cheers. “Hello,” she offers Potter, “I’m Marlene.”

He shakes her hand, looking rather baffled still. Turns to Dorcas. “Ehm, hi,” he says, his voice skipping on the nerves and the being a teenager thing, and Emmeline sympathizes.

“Nice to meet you,” Dorcas says. “I’m Dorcas. Would you like some tea?”

“Yeah.” He stumbles to a chair. “Sure. Thanks?”

Emmeline takes a cup too, very gratefully, and sinks down in her own chair. “We had no problems on the way here,” she promises.

“Never doubted you for a second,” Dorcas says, very fondly. “Not for us either. We talked about forwarding mail and they helped me pack his things. I’m not sure they even needed Confounding, they seemed rather confused already.”

Potter makes a little noise, and they turn to look at him. He doesn’t like that, Emmeline remembers, and he flushes red. “Sorry,” he says. “They are – confused is a nice way to put it.”

“Conf–” Emmeline starts to say, but she gets cut off with a look.

“Now,” Marlene stands up to say it, “I’m sure you’ll want a shower after the day you’ve had.”

He shrugs, looking up at her with a bit of a frown and Emmeline and Dorcas exchange a look. “I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping, and then take your time with whatever you need. Dinner at seven?” The question is as much for Potter as it is for Emmeline and Dorcas, but they all agree.

“I do hope he showers,” Marlene says, a little while later, when she’s back downstairs, climbing onto the sofa to get her feet on Dorcas’ lap. Dorcas pats them through her thick socks.

“Teenagers,” she says.

“Mm,” Emmeline agrees, her nose wrinkled.

Potter comes down at ten to seven, and Emmeline almost offers him a glass of wine too. She’s setting the table, while Dorcas sits on the countertop and chats about work. Of course they’d closed the stop today, but there’s always orders and trends and classes to consider.

Marlene is stirring in a pan, entirely in her own world, humming and dancing to a song she may or may not be coming up with on the spot.

“Ehm,” Potter says. “Anything I can do?”

“Nah, sit.” Dorcas waves at the kitchen table. “Marlene?”

“Five more minutes!” Marlene says, and she keeps stirring. It’ll probably be delicious; the truly experimental recipes are usually saved for days when the shop is closed and they haven’t got any other plans.

“How’s your owl settling in?” Dorcas asks Potter.

“Eh, well, I think? Is there – can she hunt here? Or is it secret?”

Emmeline hates that he knows to ask such a question, and scowls at the carafe she’s filling up by the sink.

“She can hunt,” Dorcas promises. “These two floors,” she’s probably waving her hand because she normally does while she talks, “we live here, and below’s the shop we run. It’s all pretty heavily warded. We don’t have owls, so one won’t draw much attention.” Emmeline turns around to look at her just when Dorcas settles her hand back on her knee. She can’t help but smile. Dorcas grins back at her. Used to her sappiness by now.

“Food!” Marlene proclaims, and she sets a steaming pot of pasta on the table. “Hope you’re not allergic to anything,” she tells Potter.

“Nah,” he says, eagerly staring down at the food. Marlene smiles and starts serving. It is delicious. Potter eats three full plates and decimates what would have been very nice leftovers, but that’s alright. He looks a bit more relaxed when he’s finished eating.

“Do you have any questions for us?” Emmeline asks, when they’re having tea and chocolate for afters. He squints at the table like he’s trying to think. Doesn’t answer for so long that she starts to worry a bit. “Potter?”

He looks up at that. “Harry,” he says. “And sure. Why am I here? Who are you? Does anyone know I’m here? How long –”

“Wait, wait,” says Dorcas. She scoots her chair back and rummages around in the little junk drawer Marlene is sitting in front of. “Move,” she urges, laughing when Marlene just leans in closer, also laughing. “Oh gods, alright.” She holds up some paper and a pen triumphantly, and bumps her shoulder into Marlene’s before closing the drawer again. “Sorry, that was a lot of questions. Come again?”

Potter – Harry – looks baffled when she writes down his questions as he repeats them, and then just keeps writing when he comes with more. He tests her, with _what will happen with Cedric’s funeral?_ She just writes.

“That’s... that’s it. I think,” he says finally.

“If you have any more we’ll add them,” Dorcas says. “Doubt we’ll make it through all the answers tonight though.”

“That’s fine?” His voice breaks a little again. “I’m actually – actually pretty tired.”

“Of course.” Marlene puts a hand on his forearm and he stares at it like it’s not his arm so she pulls away again. “Sorry. Go sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.”

He stands, and, looking more confused than ever, leaves the room. He hadn’t showered.

They try to go through the list, but mostly just discover very fast that they did not think it all through. How _do_ you keep a teenager occupied for a month? He seems content to spend most of the first week in his room, coming down for meals and joining them whenever they ask. 

He has nightmares, and they hear him through the wall. “Do I go? As in – should I?” Emmeline says, between Dorcas who is pretending to sleep and Marlene who is frowning at the ceiling.

“Maybe?” Dorcas mumbles. “D’you think Cedric and him were –”

“Not our place to wonder,” Marlene interrupts. Sharper than they’re used to, from her. She sits up. “I’ll go.”

Dorcas takes Harry on a hike along the cliffs, and they come back rosy-cheeked and grinning. Marlene asks him along to an aerobics class and he’s clearly never heard of that before but still goes. Then tries to pretend for the next two days that he isn’t sore. Emmeline decides to show him the way to the library.

“It’s a bit small,” she says. “But they let you sit here as long as you like, and there’s coffee and tea over there.” She thinks of something and turns around to look at him. His hands are in his pockets, he’s looking around like he’s trying to learn everything at once about this small-town library. “Do you have money, by the way? I can –”

His green eyes are a bit uncanny. For how they’re like Lily’s but also for their unblinking clarity. “No I have – I have money.”

“Alright.” She’s not sure if she wants him to use his own money, but then they feed him and house him don’t they? She’ll talk to Dorcas and Marlene about it. He could do with some clothing, if nothing else. “Let’s get you set up for a card? Do you have any identification on you?”

He doesn’t, but she’s been a witch for a very long time, so she makes him one without taking her wand out of her pocket. “Keep it,” she says afterwards. “It’s not perfect but it’ll do for most things.”

He looks at it with genuine humor in his eyes. “You got my age wrong,” he says after a while. “And my middle name is James.”

She can’t help but laugh at that. “Oh well.”

He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Please,” Dorcas says. 

“No.” It’s not just that she doesn’t want to, it’s also… “What if it’s… trauma? Or?”

“Then you’re the best person to talk about it,” Marlene says, and Emmeline regrets becoming a therapist for the first time in a very long time.

“He’s not my patient!” She hisses, but she knows she’s lost. She trudges up the stairs, and knocks on the door. Only opens it when Harry tells her it’s ok to do so. It’s truly amazing what two weeks have done to a nice neat guestroom. There is a sock hanging from the lamp. It smells like something died, then was resurrected by an apprentice necromancer, only to succumb once more to its inexorable fate. Harry is sitting on his bed, a book open on his lap, and looks up at her with some curiosity. 

“Harry,” she says. “Can I sit?” She motions to his desk chair and he nods. He looks worried now. It takes a minute to make space enough so she can perch at the edge of the chair, but then she starts with a deep breath. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she says. “And if you need a break you can tell me. Or simply hold up your hand. I’ll stop. I’ll leave, if you ask me to.”

“But?” he asks. Worry has turned to outright fear.

“You haven’t been showering, and this room is unclean. It is not healthy, and I want to help you.”

He blushes a deep ugly red, and takes a towel from the floor, before disappearing into the hallway. Emmeline is possibly as embarrassed as he is, but she also doesn’t want to invade by cleaning for him. She looks around. Mostly… cups and plates. Dirty clothes, inoffensive trash. She opens the window, Conjures a bin and then a laundry basket. On second thought, she removes the lid. It might help if he can toss things in from across the room. She starts stacking dishes and when she hears wet feet on the corridor, she looks up. His hair is wet, he’s still blushing, and he’s wrapped a towel around his waist that he clenches closed with a fist. He’s so _thin_ , she thinks. “I’ll just pop these in the sink downstairs,” she says, a little nod to the stacks she’s holding, and he lets her pass. The door closes behind her with a little more force than she’s used to and she hopes he’s not too upset. Wishes he’d talk to her.

“Tea?” Dorcas offers, when she walks into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” she says. “He’s had his shower, at least.”

She fixes them both a nice steaming mug and when she knocks on his door again, it opens to Harry, in clean clothes, most of the stuff from the floor in the basket or the bin. “Here you go,” she offers, and she takes the chair again, pleased to note there’s space to sit now. He sits on the bed with his tea. Fidgets nervously. “Do you want to talk about it?” She offers after a moment of silence, “or would you prefer to be shown how the laundry machine works?”

“I’ll take the laundry machine,” he says with a grateful smile, still looking more than a bit embarrassed, and he gets up to find a few more stray socks and things. Emmeline takes the sheet off of the bed for him.

Soon all four of them are standing in front of their machine. “And then you grab this,” Dorcas holds up the powder as she says it. “And you add it here,” Marlene adds. “And you have to turn these, but don’t pull them!” Emmeline says.

“I know,” he looks up with bright happy eyes. “I’ve done laundry before.”

“Oh,” says Dorcas. “Maybe we should be asking you then, what all these knobs mean.”

“It came with the house,” Marlene explains, “and it takes up less space then a tub and mangle setup but it’s far too confusing if you ask me.”

Potter slides his hand between the cupboard and the machine, and for a split second Emmeline wonders if there’s a button they’ve missed over there, but then he draws his hand back. “Have you tried the manual?” A slightly crumpled and faded booklet in his hand. None of them have _ever_ seen that. They laugh so hard Emmeline ends up needing the bathroom, and when she comes back the machine still hasn’t been started. 

“Come on!” She urges. “We’ll be doing this three times at least, today!”

“You don’t clean there?” Harry asks, flapping the booklet a bit, when they’re all seated and done laughing for the most part.

Dorcas waves her wand guiltily, and the dishes start doing themselves, a bit of dust comes off the top shelves, the curtains flutter. They don’t really need to see between things to clean there.

“I love magic,” Harry decides, and they all agree. 

Harry starts having very long showers, instead of almost no showers, but they all agree that a victory is a victory and they won’t overthink it. He comes down one evening pink-cheeked and relaxed, and nudges Marlene aside to help with the cooking. 

“Harry,” Dorcas says as she’s going through the mail, “what would you like to do for your birthday?”

There’s a clanging noise, and his back is stiff, but nothing else gives him away.

“Oh I know!” Marlene says, “we’ll all go to the beach!”

“Hush,” Emmeline tells her. “Let him decide.”

“No that sounds nice,” his voice skips. They decide not to press it. Dorcas looks sorry to have spoiled his nice relaxed mood but he cheers up soon enough. Emmeline blows her a kiss and they smile at each other. We’ll get there, she thinks, before remembering that they’ve abducted a child from his family without telling anyone. Dorcas notices the look on her face and blows a kiss back. We’ll get there regardless, it seems to say. 

“We have everything right?” Emmeline mumbles into the sweaty pile she loves to sleep in, on the morning of the 31st.

“Ye-eah,” Marlene answers, her jaw cracking with her yawn.

“Cake’s in the fridge, presents are wrapped, shop has a note,” Dorcas lists. “We’ll need to prepare the picnic but we’ve got everything for it.”

“We’ll barbecue right?” Marlene asks. “I want a fire on the beach.”

“Sure babe.” Emmeline leans back for a kiss. Then forward for a kiss from Dorcas too. “How much time do we have?”

“He doesn’t normally get up before… eight at least right?”

“I’m out,” Marlene says, making a face like she knows where this’ll go.

“Oh I’m sorry.” Emmeline leans back again. “Stay, we don’t –”

Marlene sits up. “Yeah you do, I know you’ve been gagging for it and I was hoping to go for a run anyway.” Emmeline makes a face and Marlene kisses it away. Swings her legs over and starts changing for her run. “Dor,” she says, “that box we got yesterday?”

“Yesss,” Dorcas hisses, and she leans over the edge of the bed, holds up a nondescript cardboard box with pride. If there is one thing Emmeline has learned through fifteen years of running a sex shop, it is that _all_ the best things come in nondescript cardboard packages. She wants, reaches out to grab it, and tears into the box even as Marlene kisses Dorcas goodbye.

“Ooooh,” she says, entirely eager, when she finds the shiny new dildo inside. She makes sure to kiss Marlene before she leaves, and laughs when Dorcas drags her back to bed.

Harry’s birthday ends with them singing _happy birthday_ one more time. Some people who are also at the beach come over to wish him a happy birthday, and they all sit around a nice big fire they roast sausages in. It’s a bit perfect, Emmeline thinks, and judging by the look on Harry’s face, he agrees.

When Hedwig taps at the window one night, as they're having dinner, Marlene opens it with a flick of her wrist. Hedwig hoots excitedly at the piece of cheese she’s offered, and hands the letter off.

Harry reads it, his mouth an unhappy line. “They’re not telling me anything,” he says. “But they’re all together, and apparently I’ll be picked up soon?”

“Hm,” Dorcas hums. They’ve always known Harry was supposed to spend at least a part of the holidays at the Order hide-out in London. “No date?”

“No,” Harry confirms. “I don’t – I don’t want to go there.” He sounds a bit panicked. “And just wait for them to come.”

“Write them back,” Marlene says. “Tell them a day you’re available.” Harry looks at her like she’s mad. “Lie! I don’t know, maybe you came along with them for a trip?”

“Bloody unlikely,” Harry grumbles, but he feels around the side of the table for the drawer, and takes out a piece of paper and a pen. “What day should I say?”

Emmeline thinks about her schedule, but then thinks of something else. “Harry could you give us one mo’? Gotta talk to the girls about something.” He frowns but stands up, takes his letter, paper, and pen. She turns to Dorcas and Marlene. “It’s his room, right? Not just for –”

“Emmeline Vance if you think for a second that either of us would –” Dorcas starts and Marlene nods along furiously.

“No, no,” Emmeline interrupts. “Just didn’t want to put you on the spot. Harry?” He’s barely out of the kitchen when he turns around. 

“Mm?” 

“It’s – you don’t have to leave. If you don’t want. Same with… Winter. Or next summer.”

“Or if you get expelled,” Marlene adds, not at all helpfully. But they do all laugh. It’s true, either way. 

She expected a little pleased smile, or maybe even a no thank you. She doesn’t expect his fists to clench, crumpling the paper he’s still holding. He stares at the floor, his hair has grown out enough that they can’t see his face. “Harry?” She tries, and she sees him shiver. “Would you – do you need a hug?”

Again he surprises her. Marlene and Harry go out together all the time, they cook together almost every day. Dorcas takes him on long hikes, plays board games with him when it rains. Emmeline often feels that the only thing she ever does is telling him to do his homework and clean his room. Besides – Dorcas gives the best hugs Emmeline has ever had. But he walks over to her instead. She scoots her chair back, opens her arms, and receives an armful of trembling child. She pulls him close, his face against her neck, his fists uncurl a little and her shirt collar gets damp even though he barely makes a noise. She traces his spine up and down, and uses her other hand to shield his face and keep him close. Her very soul hurts for him, so much so that she feels her own eyes burn and then spill over. Dorcas and Marlene look at her with sad eyes full of love. 

They decide he’ll leave the fifteenth, enough time to see his friends and godfather, and enough time to finish his summer homework too. Emmeline is helping him with Transfiguration one afternoon, both of them on the sofa with his books between them, when her bladder makes itself known. “Sorry,” she says, standing up. He frowns at her. “Bathroom,” she explains, and he frowns more.

“Nothing to apologize for,” he says, and she reaches out to touch him, stops herself. He notices and smiles. “It’s ok,” he promises. His hair is usually clean now, and she uses her flat hand to push it back, pet his face. 

“Back in a minute,” she promises.

She’s just washing her hands when she hears a crashing noise, and then a very clear: “What the _actual_ fuck?” In seconds she’s in the living room, where Harry and Snape are facing each other. 

“Not like _I_ was expecting _you_ either!” Harry accuses, neatly solving the question of who did the swearing.

“Harry,” she says, “do you mind if we continue working on your essay another day?” He shakes his head no. Starts stacking his things from where they’ve fallen on the floor. “Don’t worry,” she says, “stay here, we’ll talk in the kitchen.”

Snape glares at her all the way, then glares at the open door between the kitchen and the living room. “What the _fuck?_ ” he repeats.

“We ehm –” Emmeline tries to think of the best way to say this and draws a total blank. “Tea?”

“No!” he hisses. “Well yes, but answer the damn question!”

“We saved him,” she says, for the first time since they picked Harry up feeling like maybe this plan hadn't been their best. She starts the kettle anyway.

“And you didn’t – pause –” he says, disbelief in his voice and eyebrows, “to consider that I put my _life_ on the line. That perhaps it might be _nice_ if I were informed –”

“Harry,” Emmeline calls, because if Snape isn’t going to be able to keep his voice down, they might as well make it a family meeting. 

“Yeah?” He calls back. She leans around the doorpost. “Can you get the girls from downstairs please? Tell them Snape is here.” He looks down at himself. “PJs are fine, don’t worry honey.”

When Harry’s out the door and the tea is steeping, she sits down. “ _Honey_ ,” Snape drawls, sarcasm dripping off of it.

There’s some shouting, but eventually they all resolve their feelings about Harry staying with them. Harry falls asleep on the sofa, about halfway through, and Dorcas covers him with a blanket. “So this is why he didn’t want to go?” Snape says, softer than Emmeline has ever heard him speak.

“Yeah,” Marlene says. “I think he likes it here.”

“I would,” Snape bites out, but then he makes an odd face, like he’s said too much. Soon after that he leaves, and they pile on the rug together. 

“Fuck,” says Emmeline, and the others laugh, hair and arms and legs all tangled.

“Say that again,” Dorcas answers. “Always fun to close the shop for a good old shouting match.”

They chat a bit longer, trying not to laugh too loud, until the sofa creaks and they turn to look and Harry is grinning down at them, all fond and sleepy. “To bed!” Marlene decides.

Of course Emmeline gets called in to help move Harry, so it falls to Dorcas to drop him off at his aunt and uncle’s house. “What do I tell them? About where I’ve been?” Harry muses, looking at his trunk where it stands in the living room. Emmeline is helping him fold his clothes. 

“The truth,” Marlene suggests, and Emmeline makes a face at her.

“I’d really rather not have the Prophet shows up here to ask why you’ve not paid your taxes the last decade and a half or so,” she says. Maybe one day they'll reveal to the Wizarding World that Dorcas and Marlene didn't die, but if that day comes it'll be after Voldemort is gone. When the worst that might come for them is the Prophet and taxes.

“Alright, the truth but vaguer,” Marlene agrees. “You were with your… other aunt? I could be Lily’s sister?” She flips her hair back. Long and red. It could be.

“I’ll be vague,” Harry promises. “No clue how I’m related to Auntie Mar, really," he jokes, "pass the potatoes?”

“Tell ‘em we got kicked out by Petunia for being super gay!” Dorcas hollers from the kitchen, and they all laugh.

“The fewer people know that you weren’t at your aunt and uncle’s the better,” Emmeline says. “But we trust your judgment. Let us know if you tell a lie you need us to back you on.”

Marlene kisses his hair as she hugs him when it’s time to go. She makes him promise he’ll write and he laughs and tells her to be better at squat thrusts than he is the next time they see each other. Emmeline wrinkles her nose at the idea. 

“See you in an hour or so,” she tells Harry. “And tonight,” she tells Marlene and Dorcas. Then she Floos and Apparates only to be told by a child that can’t be much older than Harry is that they’ll need to take a Portkey and did she remember to bring her broom? She rolls her eyes.

Harry pretends not to know her, and they fly to Grimmauld Place all together. Emmeline casts Warming Charms on Harry that make him laugh and when she’s dropped him off and is pulled into another pointless endless meeting she regrets not saying goodbye to him properly at home. He shoots her a look about half-way through the meeting, and she pretends to need the bathroom. Then she pretends to be lost, until she finds Harry in an empty dreary sitting room. He hugs her tight.

“Did you talk to them about coming home for Christmas?” She asks, he nods against her. “Don’t feel pressured either way,” she whispers. 

A letter comes as soon as the semester has started. A long rambling thing, about Grimmauld Place, and cleaning, and his friends. About classes he’ll have to take with Snape. They laugh until they cry at his stories and then write an even longer letter back. 

“So should we talk about how we’ve adopted a teenager?” Marlene asks, just after Halloween, in the middle of what was a nice light-hearted conversation about Christmas presents and holiday plans.

“Well we could,” Emmeline grumbles, as she settles more comfortably in her chair.

“Do you remember what he said about the secret lessons he’s thinking of giving the other children?” Marlene wrinkles her nose at the idea.

“Just because we’ve adopted him doesn’t mean we get to write angry letters to the board about the sub-par teachers at Hogwarts,” Dorcas points out. “Because of the whole secret thing.”

“Well sure,” Marlene asks. “I’ve just always thought that just because he _can_ doesn’t mean he should, and I think he should know that. And as I was thinking of how to tell him that, I thought that we should also tell him that he’s ours for as long as he wants to be.”

“You say the sweetest things,” Emmeline says, but when she leans in for a kiss her face is pushed away and Marlene looks angry, “and you’re right!” That helps. She gets her kiss. “Didn’t mean to dismiss you, you’re absolutely right.”

“What’s adoption mean then?” Dorcas asks. “If it’s not official, what makes it real?” They talk about it for a while, but not very long. They’ve had this conversation before. No need to tell anyone about exactly how it works, as long as you know you’re family. 

When they meet him at the train station, Dorcas and Marlene stay hidden and Emmeline attempts to look like she has every right to take him with her. Like she's just picking him up for Christmas with the knowledge and consent of everyone involved. He’s grown a lot, and Dorcas teases him about it. He grins his shy teenager smile, and Emmeline tugs him along. He shouldn’t be seen talking to them. They walk to St Pancras and just take the train down. As soon as they’re out of London Dorcas and Marlene sneak off, and then emerge with a great show of _hey fancy meeting you here!_

The holidays are always a busy time for the shop, so they often end up spending their evenings at the back of the shop. They try to stay on top of packaging and filling orders and sorting through shipments. The day they pick Harry up from London they go down to the shop after he’s gone to bed. “He’s sixteen, isn’t he?” Marlene waves her hand. “I’m sure he’s seen one of these before!” She holds up a truly massive horse-cock shaped dildo, too floppy to hold itself up, and only then looks at it. They laugh and laugh, until Emmeline agrees.

“Alright, he can do his homework here,” she says. “But we’ll ask him first.”

Harry blushes but sets his jaw, and seems to really enjoy the evenings they spend together at the shop, mostly working until they get tired or tipsy or both. He develops a taste for music while flipping through their CDs, trying one after another until someone tells him to _please let us finish out just one song please?_

“We do a party normally,” Marlene explains when Harry asks about Christmas one evening. “Strays and gays,” she explains, as if that makes everything obvious. “Do you have something you can wear?”

“Ehm,” he croaks. Dorcas suggests they look through their closet, and so all of them abandon their work for the night and bustle up the stairs. They pile into their bedroom and Marlene opens the closet doors. Rummages through until she holds up a sheer blouse in one hand, and a glittering jacket in the other. They all look at Harry to see what he’s thinking. But Harry is looking at the bed. 

“I hadn’t – hadn’t –” he says. He looks at them, helpless.

“But you must’ve realized this is only one room?” Emmeline can’t help herself.

“Magic?” He shrugs. She’d apologize for how obvious it is that he hadn’t realized, but she’s done a lot of apologizing for who she is over the years. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking like he might cry with embarrassment. “I wasn’t paying attention to you at all.”

It’s a bit awkward, for a day or so, but it settles. They decide they’ll get Harry a nice tuxedo for the occasion and he’s grateful and happy with it. At their Christmas party, in someone’s uncle’s shed, long tables groaning with the mismatched food everyone has brought, Marlene and Dorcas stand off to the side. Emmeline has just finished helping with the chairs, and she hasn’t seen Harry in a while.

“He’s made a friend,” Dorcas says, when she asks, smiling up at her, bright with joy. She looks so beautiful, the silver of her dress a gorgeous contrast to her skin, her hair braided up, her eyes warm and happy. “And Marlene and I were just talking about how you look good enough to eat.” Emmeline gives them a twirl to show off her new dress, chosen carefully to fit just right and float about her when she dances. Marlene is wearing a pantsuit, cobbled together from things they already had, and as always she’s the best dressed in the room. What were they talking about? _Harry_.

“Where?” She says, and they laugh because she’s been ogling them, and then she receives twin kisses on her cheeks, a nice big hug with all their arms wrapped around each other.

Harry, as it turns out, is up on the eaves of the shed, sharing a bottle of something with a girl Emmeline doesn’t recognize. He catches her staring, and waves back happily when she smiles. 

“You know you could just… not?” Marlene says, from the sofa where she’s stretched out and Dorcas is tucked into a corner. Emmeline is in her favourite chair and Harry is trying to explain why. 

“I can’t!” Harry says, a bit louder than he normally speaks, probably because he doesn’t want to start a fight when he’s due to leave soon. He’s clearly been trying not to scream ever since they had the maybe-less-screaming talk over summer. They’re still working on stomping out on conversations, but mostly because they don’t like to stop him from leaving if he wants to cool down.

“And why not?” Dorcas asks, she looks genuinely interested as always, the sweetheart.

“Because!” He demands. “I was chosen! I have to finish this!”

“You’re literally twelve,” Marlene reminds him, and he rolls his eyes. Luckily they all find that funny, and share a laugh about it. It helps with the atmosphere.

“I know we’re having this conversation in good fun,” Emmeline feels the need to say, “but do consider it. If you don’t want to participate in the war, no one in their right mind could say that you have to. You’ve lost enough.”

Harry sinks down on the sofa, between Dorcas and Marlene. Dorcas moves in for a cuddle immediately, Marlene awkwardly pets his face. “Like Dumbledore’d let me,” Harry mumbles finally. And that was the wrong thing to say, though he couldn’t possibly have known it. Marlene shoots off the sofa with a gasp.

“LET YOU!” she shouts, breaking the shouting rule so furiously no one would dare point it out to her, and Harry leans back, blinking a bit fast, still wrapped up in Dorcas. “I’LL KILL HIM FIRST!” she rants while gasping for air and Emmeline can tell Harry won’t be able to understand at all so she steps up in front of Marlene. She’s only a bit taller, but it’s usually enough. It is now. Marlene lets out all her air with a miserable sigh and leans against Emmeline’s collarbone. “Yeah go for it,” she says, miserably, when she notices how Emmeline’s hands flutter. How much she wants to help.

“But do you want to?” Emmeline urges. Marlene looks up at her, fond brown eyes warm with love. A quick peck to her cheek, then she turns to face the sofa again. No hugs then.

“Look at me,” Marlene insists, waving her hand all over herself. It’s easy to forget how bad it was, with how easily she moves these days, but her house had been set on fire, and she’d crawled out with nothing but her willpower and her desire to _live_. And she had, but her skin tells the story of how close she’d come. Harry’s face is all soft. Young cheeks, young fluffy hair. Bright eyes. “I know what enough is,” Marlene says, “and I learned that lesson the very hardest way. I faked my death to not have to give more, and so did Dorcas, and I know we’ll happily do the same for you.”

“Fake my death?” Harry huffs, more than a bit incredulous.

“Think about it.” Dorcas holds up her glass at him. “Offer stands.” Emmeline nods too, when Harry looks at her. She’s not sure if it’s an innate desire or something she’s read somewhere, but she wants Harry to know he is supported in this way too. 

“I think I’m good,” he says, like it’ll never happen. And that more than anything tells something in Emmeline that it will.

The day they drop Harry off at the train again they lie in bed staring at the ceiling the whole time. “Who’d treat him badly?” Marlene says eventually. “I understand that plenty of people don’t think like we do, but who could look at _Harry_ and go ah yes let me not give this kid the whole entire world?”

“If only we knew.” Dorcas sighs. There’s a tap at the window. Hedwig, with a note and a little parcel. It’s a picture of the four of them at Christmas, Muggle and still, grinning like there’s no wars, and no evil. They cry a little, all wrapped up in each other in the big bed. They make sure to write him a long letter back.

“Emmeline!” She hears, and she rushes up the stairs, leaving Dorcas to deal with the customer. “Dorcas! Marlene!” As she opens the door. “Please?”

“Harry,” she gasps. He’s supposed to be at Hogwarts taking his O.W.L.s. His face is sticking out of the fire, wild eyes full of fear.

“I think Sirius is at the Ministry of Magic and he’s being tortured,” Harry says, and Emmeline takes a deep breath in, then slowly lets it out.

“Go to Snape,” she says, forcing her voice to be steady. “Don’t tell anyone that’s what you’re doing. I swear I will find Sirius.” He nods. Looks entirely too conflicted for her liking. “Snape saved Dorcas and Marlene, that’s why they’re not actually dead. That’s why we have the life we do. Tell him I sent you. He _will_ listen.” 

Harry pulls away a little, nods. “Ok I will,” he promises.

“And Harry?” she says, before he leaves. “I love you.” It’s hard to read his expression through the Floo, but she wants to reach out and she knows he can tell, and so he nods again. Then he disappears.

“DORCAS!” she screams. “MARLENE?”

When they get back, fully exhausted from making sure all three of them would be able to come home that night, there is a Thestral in their postage stamp sized garden, and Harry is fidgeting on the sofa. He looks like he is at least half forest-nymph, with sticks and moss in his hair, and the Thestral is eating the weedy potions ingredients one of them had at some point tried to grow there. Emmeline tells everyone to shut up until they can get a pot of tea ready. They’ll be needing it.

“Sirius?” Harry asks, breathless a bit.

“Probably still stuck to the wall of his parlour,” Dorcas tells him, her grin properly evil. 

Harry tells them he’d been on his way to the ministry, picking up and setting the steaming mug of tea he’d been given back down again over and over again. His friends had been willing to fly there, on Thestrals, just because he’d asked it of them. But he knew Sirius would be fine. Emmeline had promised. So he’d told them they should fly around for a while, maybe even to London, and pretend they’d lost him somewhere halfway. That they’d tried to find him all night, but weren’t able to use magic, so they’d come back without him. It's impossible to read his expression when he says that he told his friends to wait for the Thestral to come back. And when it does, that they should tell everyone it must mean he’s dead.

“You did it,” Marlene says, no small amount of awe in her voice, her face twitching as it tries to accommodate her grin. “Harry _fucking_ Potter!” she cheers. 

“Dorcas,” Emmeline says, and she looks up at her. “Where do you keep the spare wands?”

“Shut up,” Dorcas tells her. “We’re safe now so we’re going to do some processing first.” She’s right of course, it’s time for deep breaths first. 

They get Harry an untraceable wand and a new name, make him repeat his story over and over again, and enroll him in the local secondary before it’s summer break. When Harry asks why they tell him it’s so he can get his homework for the summer on time. But he’s on to them as soon as they get him cake for making his first Muggle friend. “It’ll be good to have people to spend time with over summer anyway,” he grumbles. It’s a fond sort of grumble, though.

When Harry’s been around for a week or so, something happens in the living room. A loud crash? Emmeline is in the bath, soothing sore muscles after another fight with the Order. _Harry_ , is her first thought. She flies out of the bath, puts on a robe, and doesn’t finish tying it until she’s halfway down the stairs. Harry’s right behind her even though she told him to stay in his room. 

She’s started the _ssss_ of a Stupify when she realizes that it’s not an intruder, or at least not the kind that might kill them. “Harry,” she says, calm and steady, but he must’ve noticed before she did. He’s pale around the nose, staring at Snape with fear and no small amount of hatred. “Make him tea, please?” she asks Harry, and then she goes upstairs to rinse off her bath bubbles and put on some clothes. When she comes back down, Snape is sitting at her kitchen table.

“Tea,” Harry says, and then he stalks past her to go to the shop, probably to complain to Dorcas. 

“I’ve just come from the Dursleys,” Snape tells her, composed but obviously shaken. “And then I realized that there were people who actually deserve my condolences. Petunia was born a waste of space, and I am not happy to conclude that she has found a way to get worse.”

“Yeah,” she says.

Marlene joins them first, sits down opposite Emmeline. “They’ll be up in a min,” she says. “Now Snape, I hope you remember how good I am at _Obliviate_?”

Harry snorts somewhere behind Emmeline, and she turns to look at him, right as the grin falls off his face. Either her face or Marlene’s must have given away how not funny that is.

“You’re… you’re right to do this,” Snape says. “I’m an excellent Occlumens.”

“No one is to know,” Marlene says, and he looks at her, holds out his hand. “That’s not necessary,” she promises, “keep your vows, just tell us you agree with us, and what you know, please.”

One morning they get to the shop and find Dorcas has started on the runes, painted in her own blood on the floor of the shop. _Fidelis salvusque_ , she chants, and there’s a strange moment of blankness, a cotton-y sort of feeling, before Dorcas says: “The House of Ill Repute is at Brighton Square Street 6.”

“That was very thorough,” Emmeline says. She approves, but Marlene starts crying. They decide it’s a day for pizza, and Emmeline apologizes until Dorcas tells her to shut up.

“We’re all feeling it,” she says. “And just because we knew it was coming doesn’t mean it’s not awful that it’s here.” It’s grim, but they all know it to be true, especially now that Harry’s face is all over the newspapers. Missing, presumed dead. The Boy Who Lived No Longer. 

Emmeline attends his funeral. She sees his friends crying together, at the far back, and she walks up to them a bit worried. “Hello,” she tells the girl she recognises to be Hermione. She passes the note Harry had given her that morning. Hermione reads it, and lets the rest of the little group read it too. 

“We’ll miss him,” she explains. 

“And we got some menthol,” a tall boy with red hair whispers, very serious and dedicated to his performance. “For our eyes.” Emmeline has to work not to laugh. 

It’s a dreadful affair, Harry had no heirs, and no will, so everything goes to Sirius. They had a long fight about whether or not to tell him, but Emmeline has seen him whisper at empty corners and scream at torn carpets one too many times. They can’t.

Harry’s friends promise to ask for his things, so they can pass them back to Harry, who left his trunk behind when he flew off. He lights up every time Hedwig brings him something, a favourite jumper, books, pictures. They start hiding the Prophet when they catch the way Harry looks at it but they know it'll only delay the inevitable. The meltdown they’ve all been waiting for happens on a Tuesday. 

“But you always go!” Harry insists, and Dorcas just hums, her hands around her mug.

“We’ve got the Fidelius now,” she says. “I can live without gardening for a bit, and I did ask Andy to take care of the allotment for me.”

“But the weeds!” Harry complains, and it’s true Andy believes weeds have as much right to grow as any plant, they might make sure the paths stay clear but they definitely won’t be carefully pulling up every dandelion by the root. “And – and the apples! And what about the tomatoes? Or your courgettes?”

“It’ll be fine,” Dorcas soothes. “If you’re going to miss the food I can ask Andy to bring us some of the harvest, you know they would.”

“It’s not about the harvest!” Harry shouts, then he turns around to Emmeline to try and get her to agree with him. “Tell her she loves the garden gossip! Tell her she’ll miss it!”

“I’m sure she knows,” Emmeline says, gently because she thinks she knows where this might be going. 

“And your potions,” he adds. “You need the ingredients.” When he sees that they won’t be agreeing with him, his eyes fill up. “WHAT IS IT FOR THEN? If you can’t do – what you – what you love? What are we doing this FOR?”

The answer is obvious, it hangs in the air, they don’t need to say it. Harry stomps off. Doesn’t come down again until after dinner.

As a compromise, they decide not to cancel date night. “Mar!” Emmeline shouts up the stairs. “We’ll be late!”

Marlene stumbles down the stairs with as much grace as a small herd of elephants, as she usually does, but she does look stunning. “Sorry,” she pants, as she hops around on one leg, trying to get her shoes on.

“No, don’t be,” Emmeline says. “Dor,” she calls out so Dorcas can hear her in the living room, “Dor are you sure you don’t want to come? Look at our girl for a minute and tell me you don’t want to take her out?”

Dorcas steps out into the hallway with a fond grin, and whistles at a blushing Marlene. Harry steps out too, looks at both of them and smiles happily. “You look beautiful!”

Emmeline bows, and offers Marlene her arm when she’s done putting on her coat. “Wallet?” She asks Marlene, who holds it up triumphantly. “Then let's be off!”

“Enjoy,” Dorcas tells them, and they get a kiss each.

“Did you book something for after dinner? A film?” Emmeline asks Marlene as they walk through the echoing streets. It’s not late but it is dark out, and it’s been raining so the streets are wet and shining. “No,” Marlene says, when they step over a big puddle together. “Nothing on that I’d want to watch. I’d actually prefer to go dancing, if you’re alright with that.”

“Sure,” Emmeline promises, and they turn as one. It’s a Thursday, there’ll be live music, and Marlene never looks better than when she’s shining with dance floor lights and excitement. It’s tough to keep up with Marlene, easier when she gets to hold her as they dance. They make their reservation, even if they’re a bit late, but the waiter who seats them doesn’t seem to mind, and the food is delicious as always.

“Desert?” Marlene offers, when their plates have been cleared away, and Emmeline thinks it over. 

“Just coffee, for me.” She gets a bite of the tiramisu Marlene’s ordered, and is happy she won’t be dancing with a too-full stomach, happier still that she’ll be with Marlene. 

Things between them change rather drastically, of course. Hermione and Ron, being his best friends, tell her parents they’ll be spending the last week of July at the Burrow, and his parents they’ll be spending that same week in Muggle London. No one wants to ask too many questions. It’s clear they’ll be leaning on each other as they grieve.

Two mattresses barely fit in Harry’s room, but they’re all so happy to see each other that they hardly seem to notice. They spend hours and hours whispering at each other, and Hermione comes across to Emmeline as spectacularly bossy and a very annoying sort of know-it-all until Dorcas points out that if only Emmeline had been allowed to grow out her hair in school they would have been quite similar.

“I am _not_ a Gryffindor!” Emmeline bites out, and it makes Marlene laugh so hard it gives her the hiccoughs. 

She hears Ron ask Harry one night, as they are cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, whether he regrets it.

“No,” Harry answers, after thinking it over for a while. “It’s… I’m sorry your mum is hurting, and Sirius too, and everyone else that doesn’t know. But I’m so relieved to be gone.”

Harry starts school, not on the first of September like normal people, but on a Monday. It’s a bit chaotic, and they firmly establish themselves as frazzled aunts when Dorcas drops Harry off for his first day at school in her robes and he told everyone it was her bathrobe she’d been wearing. At least this will help explain why they need some help understanding Muggle schooling. He needs books and pens and paper, and he seems quite excited about it all, especially when he gets to pick a Muggle jacket.

“No,” Marlene says, when he comes out of the changing room with something so hideous words don’t exist to describe it. He grins and turns this way and that in front of the mirror.

“I’m rich Marlene,” he says, his voice hoarse from trying to settle. “I can buy it myself.”

“Please can’t we get you something nice,” Dorcas begs, but Harry is sure, and Emmeline wouldn’t force someone into clothes they don’t want to wear at the threat of Avada Kedavra, let alone mild embarrassment.

“I thought you were supposed to be put off by our sense of fashion,” Marlene complains when they’re sitting at a cafe with steaming mugs of cocoa, a bit later. “This is the wrong way around.”

“Yeah well,” Harry grins even wider, he has a little chocolate mustache that gets worse when he tries to lick it away. “Can’t always get what we want.”

“Ugh,” Dorcas complains, “and he’s been listening to your records too! When did we get ourselves a rebellious teenager?”

Harry can’t help but let his eyes flick to the bag by his side, which is filled with records Dorcas bought him not thirty minutes ago. She catches him at it, and they all laugh. It’s a bit giddy. Harry looks like himself still, even without glasses and with his hair cut very very short. But he looks taller too. Happier. 

It’s nice to have him around all the time. They watch films together, go for walks on weekends. Emmeline is often busy with the Order, and Dorcas and Marlene help Snape out whenever they can, so they’re happy not to have the shop most days. 

“Oof,” she complains, when Harry drops himself onto the sofa and the sofa groans. 

“Sorry,” he grins up at her, summons one of his Hogwarts school books over. It’s the grotty Potions book Hermione and Ron had nicked for him, when they’d realized he wouldn’t have to give up Potions with Slughorn deciding who gets to sit the NEWTs.

“Tea?” She asks as she stands up, and he only hums, but she’s fluent in teenager by now. “Are you still wanting to be an Auror after you graduate?” she asks when she’s back, amused by how intently he’s reading a book that, as far as she remembers, is eighty percent brewing instructions. 

“Thanks,” he says, resting the hot mug on his stomach. “And I dunno. McGonagall seemed to think I could be.”

“I’m sure she’d agree that you’d make a marvelous shopkeeper, or Healer, or lamplighter.” He finally looks up at her.

“What’d you want to be then?” he asks, sitting up a little and setting aside the book.

“A girl,” she says. It’s true. “And I always liked Transfiguration, so I would have studied that at university, but then I went to Muggle uni for psychology instead. I don’t know that I ever considered what I could become with it.”

“What about Dorcas? And Marlene?” 

“Good question,” she takes a sip as she thinks it over. “I don’t know that Marlene ever thought about it. But Dorcas always wanted to be a Healer.”

“Marlene never worked?”

“She wasn’t…” it’s officially a secret still of course, even if it’s a very poorly kept one by now. “She wasn’t _not_ training to be an Unspeakable,” Emmeline says, smiling. She can tell he gets it by how he laughs. It doesn’t suit Marlene as she knows her, happy to have a little shop and a family and plenty of jumping around of the exercise variety. But then Marlene as she knows her is different than Marlene as she was. 

“What’d you do if the war wasn’t on?” he asks. 

“I don’t know,” she says, turning her head as Marlene comes down the stairs and starts puttering about in the kitchen. “If it ended right now, we’d reopen the shop I suppose. If it had never happened? I really don’t know. I didn’t much like being a therapist, that’s for certain.” It was fascinating to study, but she'd always felt like an intruder trying to talk to Muggles about their lives. 

“We talkin’ 'bout the war?” Marlene asks, a bit loud over the noise of pans and drawers. 

“Yeah,” Harry says. “What’d you be up to if it hadn’t happened?”

The noise stops, Marlene leans around the corner, shrugs. “Popping out kids? John wanted many, he always said so.”

“What are we talking about?” Dorcas calls as she comes in too. “Babies?”

Emmeline rolls her eyes at Harry, who laughs. “Whether we were going to find a film Marlene might be able to sit through without falling asleep tonight,” Harry replies.

Dorcas laughs along, “yeah, zero babies in that case. What’s for dinner anyway, love?” She walks on through to the kitchen and they can hear her and Marlene laugh.

“So much for homework,” Emmeline tells Harry, and he shrugs. He looks content. She'd tell him life is strange and choices rarely take you where you think they will, but he knows all that already.

“I actually heard Shawshank Redemption is supposed to be good,” he says. It’s sweet that he asks around for film night.

“No kissing?” she asks.

“Just murder,” he promises. “Might work.”

One night, they have a spectacular row that starts about shoes in the hallway and ends with Harry saying he wishes he’d told Emmeline _no_ when she’d picked him up in Little Whinging that first time. 

“Wow,” says Marlene.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, backing away from them. “Sorry, I don’t I just – I don’t.” He runs up to his room, and dinner is a bit tense. They don’t chat around the table after, just clean up quietly, and then Harry leaves to go have a shower.

They sit around the kitchen table and talk about other things for most of the night, and Dorcas goes to bed first. Marlene joins her after a while, but Emmeline wants to finish the passports she’s making. Snape needs them as soon as possible.

“Night,” Marlene tells her, with a kiss on her forehead. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“Sleep tight, sweetheart,” Emmeline answers, and she leans in for a hug and a proper kiss. “I’ve just got two more and then I’ll clean up a bit.”

Most nights she goes to see Harry before going to bed. If he’s asleep already she’ll make sure the window is open for Hedwig, that it’s not too cold. If he’s awake they sometimes chat a bit. 

“Hey,” she whispers, as she steps into the room after knocking softly and hearing nothing. Only Harry’s hair is sticking up out of the sheets. “Goodnight, love,” she says, petting his hair. Hedwig is in her cage and hoots at her, softly and just once. The window is open but it’s getting colder at night, so Emmeline pushes it closed a little. “Will you be alright like that?” she asks Hedwig, and Hedwig hoots again. When Emmeline looks back at Harry his eyes are glinting in the low light. She kneels next to the bed and pets his hair again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, again, and she knows. Leans her head against the bed. He sneaks his hand out from underneath the duvet and fiddles with the end of her braid. “I _am_ glad to be here. And grateful too.”

“But?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “It’s like I was on a track and it wasn’t nice but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. And now the good things aren’t just somewhere at the end of things. I’m not sure what to do with it all.”

Welcome to adulthood, she thinks, but she doesn’t tell Harry that. “We’re very happy to have you here,” she promises. “It’ll be easier in the morning.”

Ron and Hermione pull the same trick at Christmas, except they tell their parents they’ll stay at Hogwarts, and the school they’ll be at home. They all want to pick the two of them up at the train station, but of course it wouldn't be safe, so Emmeline goes alone.

“Auntie Em!” Hermione cheers, running towards her to hug her tighter than Emmeline had expected. “In case any of the teachers are watching,” she whispers. Emmeline has heard stories, of course, through Harry, of the things that happen at Hogwarts, but she hadn’t expected Hermione to grow a Slytherin streak out of it. She greets Ron warmly but less enthusiastically, in keeping with their cover, and they head off together. At Brighton station they’re picked up by everyone else. 

This time they are barely at the house. Harry takes his friends around to meet his new friends, and Ron complains about Muggle culture and things that make no sense, and how all of Harry’s friends think they’re in a cult. Hermione laughs and laughs until she gets an apologetic look of understanding from him. “We’re alright,” she promises.

Harry grows, and the war brews, and they keep it away from him rather neatly. It’s working just how they want it to. 

“Why do you trust Snape?” he asks one day, quiet and worried as he reads over the letters he gets from his friends.

“I decided, in... I think 1978,” Marlene says chewing at a fingernail, “that I didn’t want to be on a side Dorcas wasn’t on.”

“Because you love her?” Harry asks, wide honest eyes. Used by now to how Marlene likes to make her point through a little detour or two. 

“Yes,” Marlene says. “I didn’t know it yet, but yes.” It’s snowing a bit outside, so they’re piled up in their bedroom staring out over rooftops. Harry and Dorcas are in the windowsill. Marlene falls onto her back on the bed.

“We didn’t meet until Marlene joined the order,” Dorcas tells Harry. They’d gone to Hogwarts together but not for long, not long enough to know each other.

“Did you know, then?” he asks. “At first sight?”

“No,” Marlene answers, and Emmeline sits down next to her on the bed. “I was married then. Why do you ask?”

“I might have a girlfriend,” he says, like he’s been meaning to say it for ages. He doesn’t look excited at all. “Annabel Hopkins? She kissed me after the football try-outs.”

“Good for you,” Emmeline tells him, and he grins a bit shyly. She lies down next to Marlene and loves how she gets wrapped up in strong arms. 

“Was it… was it you first then?” Harry looks from Marlene to Dorcas.

“No,” Marlene laughs. “It was Em and her, and Em and me, and Dor and me.” Harry laughs too.

“And then winter came…” Dorcas teases. “And it got so cold!”

“Woulda lost my fingers otherwise.” Emmeline laughs.

“AND my toes!” Marlene cheers. Harry pretends to gag but they all laugh. 

“Not to…” He wrinkles his nose. “But what about Snape?”

“Your mum was my best friend,” Marlene tells him, and he knows this, he has seen pictures of them together. “But your mum's best friend was Severus Snape.”

“Snape and my mum?” Harry looks appalled. “Actually?”

“Who knows what they got up to,” she shrugs.

“My money’s still on him being gay as a… a something,” Dorcas says. “I don’t know what. But gay.”

“Hardly matters,” Emmeline says. “Marlene is certain he loved your mum enough to never be on a side she wasn’t on.” She’s come to trust Snape for other reasons since then, but before that she trusted Marlene’s conviction. 

“But he is so awful,” Harry protests, “and I saw his Mark!” Dorcas shrugs. 

“Ask him,” Marlene suggests, and Harry groans. He probably won’t. Snape comes by often enough, but Harry usually stays in his room when he does, unless it’s mealtimes, then he just mopes at the table, and refuses to look in his direction.

“How’d you know?” Emmeline hears Harry ask Dorcas as she’s cleaning the kitchen after dinner. Harry and Dorcas are working on a stupidly large puzzle, that they’ll ask Marlene to Charm into motion when it’s done if it’s anything like the last puzzle they completed.

“Here,” Dorcas says, “a corner piece. How’d I know what?”

“About – about Em and Mar?” Harry says, and he sounds embarrassed.

Dorcas laughs. “About what with Em and Mar?”

Emmeline walks down with the compostable trash, tips it into the bin that stands in the corner of their tiny garden. It’s getting very full, soon they’ll need to start taking it to the allotment again or just getting rid of it the old-fashioned way. When she walks back up and hangs her scarf on the hook, it seems Harry is getting somewhere with what he wants to know. “But then how did you realize? When?”

“I think I’ve always known,” Dorcas says, her voice warm and kind. “I’m sorry that probably doesn’t help you much but –”

“No it does help,” Harry promises. “Helps that you take me seriously anyway.”

Emmeline washes her hands and makes tea, then joins them in the living room. “Where’s Mar?”

“Out running,” Dorcas says. They all look at the window, it’s very dark outside, but Marlene has been going a bit stir crazy.

“Probably a good idea,” she decides, as she hands Harry his mug. She doesn’t want to pry, wants to give Harry a chance at having this conversation with Dorcas, if that’s what he needs. It’s obviously been on his mind quite a bit, recently. She’s about to walk away when he surprises her.

“Sit,” he says, “Dor was just about to tell me about her first crush.”

Dorcas grins, Emmeline has heard it too many times to count, but she sits anyway. “You’ll love this story.” 

Dorcas grabs a biscuit from the plate and hums as she tries to decide where to start her story. “So before I even went to Hogwarts, I had this friend…” 

It’s not often that Emmeline joins Dorcas on one of her hikes. Normally she’s content to let her go alone, or with Marlene, or even with Harry. But today Marlene and Dorcas were chatting happily about where they were going to go, what sights they’d see, how the weather has been so nice for this time of year, when suddenly a note came through for Marlene.

“I’m so sorry,” she tells Dorcas, and her poor face falls. “It’s – I really have to.”

“I know,” Dorcas promises, with a kiss, “it’s alright.” Marlene leaves immediately, doesn’t even bother changing her shoes, and Harry is going to be at school until it’ll be too late for hiking. Emmeline stands in her bathrobe, holding her mug of tea, looking at Dorcas as she tries to decide if she’ll go alone.

“I’ll come,” she promises, and the way Dorcas lights up – she’d do anything for that. “Give me one minute.” 

It takes more than a minute to go upstairs, change, use the bathroom, and start putting on her boots, of course. But by the time she comes back down the stairs Dorcas has packed some extra food, a blanket because she knows how Emmeline feels about sitting in the grass, and a large thermos.

“You take such good care of me,” Emmeline grins as she says it, leans in for a proper kiss, and Dorcas pets her face fondly.

“You’re coming on this hike for me,” she says. “Because you love me.” It’s true, but it makes Emmeline blush all the same.

It’s a good day for it. They take the bus out, and then clamber up and down a frankly stupid amount of rocks, until they have a gorgeous view of the sea, and a good place to sit. Emmeline lays down with a sigh, stares at the blue sky and the clouds that drift by. It smells like spring.

“Hope Mar’s ok,” Dorcas says, a bit absent-mindedly, and Emmeline hums. “She gets back so late from these things, and you know how she feels about doing all the big spells.”

“Yeah,” Emmeline agrees. But it’s not like any of them like what they have to do, that’s why they told Harry not to go back. “What about you though?” she asks, as she thinks on it. “You’ve been getting called quite often too.”

“Mostly just healing,” Dorcas says, and her tone is off. Emmeline rolls over to look down at her. They both pull a face. It’s so complicated. “You know – I love it, and I hate not being able to do it anymore. But the field stuff isn’t what I loved about it.”

“I know,” Emmeline promises. Dorcas likes solving problems - the more complex the better. She loves seeing patients get better after something unimaginable, even if it takes years. “I don’t want to make empty-sounding promises.”

“I know,” Dorcas kisses her hair. “And I’ll get back to it somehow, or I’ll find something else. Before I’m ancient, preferably.”

Emmeline laughs, and lies back down. “You’re already ancient,” she says, knowing what comes next. She laughs again as she gets kissed all over her face and has to beg for Dorcas to stop before it's too much. They lie mostly on top of each other for a while, enjoying the fresh air and the weak sun. 

“Time to go back?” Dorcas asks eventually, and Emmeline nods. “It’s a nice walk down the other way, but there’s a bus there too, if you’d rather –”

“No,” Emmeline interrupts her. “No I’m fine. Let’s walk.” That earns her a big bright grin, being helped to her feet and kissed, and having Dorcas insist on carrying all of their things. It’s quite the reward.

The most horrible things always seem to happen at night. When it’s dark, especially when it’s moonless, or better yet - foggy. Which is why it takes Emmeline more than a second to realize that something is Really Wrong when the phone downstairs rings. It’s the middle of the day. Dorcas answers it, tells her to get to Harry’s school as fast as she can, that she’ll come as fast as she can, once she's found Marlene.

Emmeline doesn’t bother with Muggle clothes, doesn’t bother with outer robes, or shoes. She barely manages to remember to Apparate into the bikeshed by Harry’s school, and she’s sure she looks insane when she bursts into the nurse’s office. She didn’t need to ask for directions. She could hear Harry scream. Harry’s pinned to the bed by four grown adults who all look terrified and the nurse says only: “The ambulance is on its way.”

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” she chants. Not the name that’s on the passport she made him, but the one his first mother gave him. She places her hands on his cheeks and watches in horror as tears leak down his face, as he screams and screams, while his scar seems to be splitting open. Dorcas and Marlene arrive soon after her, and they stare, wide-eyed, until the ambulance people try to take him away. Dorcas convinces them not to.

“If it’s a seizure,” she says. “We’ll want to wait it out before transport.”

“How long has this been going on?” the man asks with a frown. 

“Minutes,” the school nurse answers. “He collapsed in class, his friends brought him here, we called, and this started soon after.”

Later, they’ll talk about how sudden it was, how it seemed to get louder before suddenly cutting off, which Dorcas says is just a trick of your brain. When Harry suddenly stops screaming, though, the first thing they think of is to rush to him. 

“Mr Meadowes?” the nurse says, stern and insistent. “James?” He doesn’t respond.

They decide that Dorcas will stay with him. So Marlene and Emmeline can go home with Harry’s school things, to change and to get him something to wear once he wakes up. Emmeline regrets offering to let Dorcas be the one to stay with him when they step out of the office and are faced with a line of pale worried teenagers. 

“What happened with James?” one of them asks.

“Will he be alright?” another adds. 

Marlene takes her hand and squeezes it. “It’s not the first time he’s survived something horrible,” she tells them, and they all nod. “We’ll be sure to let you know as soon as possible.”

“Here, miss,” a third teenager says, shorter than the others, a stubborn upturned nose. She holds out a scrap of paper with a phone number on it. “If you’d call me, I’d be happy to pass on a message to the rest.”

Emmeline takes it, and tucks it away safely in her pocket. “I will,” she promises.

He looks small, and vulnerable, and when Emmeline takes his hand it jostles the metal sticking out of him. “What’s this?” she whispers. 

“Muggle things,” Dorcas answers. “I figured I’d let them do their medicine, so they don’t think we’re bad parents.”

“Anything Muggle-medicine in there?” Marlene is already pointing her wand at the clear bag that leads into Harry.

“No, no,” Dorcas hisses. “It’s just fluids so he’s hydrated until they can do more tests to find out what happened.”

They cleaned his forehead at least, there's a bandage where the scar was spreading and bleeding.

“Snape’s on his way,” Marlene tells Dorcas. They haven’t actually talked to him yet but they’ve sent a note and a Patronus, both spelled to reveal themselves as soon as he’s alone. They don't have to wait long before there’s a shining doe in the middle of the room.

“Meet me out the front of the hospital,” is all it says. Marlene runs out. 

Snape explains as he picks off the neat bandages, drips Essence of Dittany over the wound, and then just sort of prods the covering back into place. He rips out the metal in Harry’s hand like he’s done it a hundred times, and they all wince when they see how far inside of him it was. “Dorcas,” Emmeline hisses, handing her a bundle of clothes. “Change.” With a flick of her wand she locks the door to Harry’s room, and Dorcas wriggles into some Muggle clothes. He says something about pieces of Voldemort's soul, and spells Dumbledore hadn’t wanted to use but was forced to because they weren’t sure they could find all the pieces. 

He’s dripping some potion into Harry’s mouth as he holds it open with a practiced thumb pressed on Harry’s cheek. He's saying that he isn’t sure if it's worked and won't be for a while, when Harry starts coughing and spluttering.

“Swallow before you make a scene,” Snape barks, and Harry does as he’s told. The colour is returning to his face already. 

“What was that?” Dorcas asks him, but Emmeline doesn’t care, she cares that Harry is making a face, trying to blink. Marlene is leaning over him, whispering at him.

“Phoenix tears,” she hears Snape say behind her, full of sarcasm. “Come on Meadowes, can’t you tell it’s a simple Strengthening Potion?” He’s obviously trying to sound stern and unaffected, and he misses by a mile. 

Harry blinks his eyes open. Round and green. He hisses with pain. Tries to touch his forehead. “Mar?” He says, looking at her. 

“Yeah,” she promises. “Try to sleep?” He nods a little and closes his eyes again. 

The door rattles, and Emmeline unlocks it to let in a frowning Muggle Healer. Marlene stands up to hide that the metal stick is no longer in Harry.

“Dorcas was just changing,” Emmeline says. “Sorry we locked the door.”

“That’s alright,” he says. “I’m doctor –”

“Obliviate,” Marlene whispers. The man nods, then turns and walks away. “He’ll write down that Harry has a history of stress-related migraines and that he’ll be more careful in the future.”

Snape leaves as soon as he's handed them a pile of potions bottles and hastily scratched out instructions. Harry sleeps for a few more hours, and then he wants to go home. They get a taxi for the four of them. He falls asleep in the taxi again, and they carefully help him up the stairs, lay him on the sofa so they can fuss over him properly. Dorcas fetches him tea and Marlene gets him the phone so he can ring his worried friends. 

The next morning the papers show an eerily familiar scene. Photos of people pouring into the streets, in robes and with their hats on, articles about how the Boy Who Lived defeated the Dark Lord once again. There are owls everywhere, and cheerful bangs of fireworks.

It is different, of course, and not only because Harry is with them. The last time Voldemort was defeated Marlene and Dorcas were still recovering from their injuries and Emmeline had nowhere to put her love for them both. This time around they are safe, and they know they are loved. 

“Marlene McKinnon?” Sirius asks, when they walk into Grimmauld Place for the party-slash-debrief, his mouth hanging open. Marlene laughs.

“Not anymore! Stewart again, now.” His eyes flit between Emmeline and Marlene. Marlene, braver than Emmeline’s ever been, leans into Sirius. “I’m really very gay, it turns out.”

“Ah alright,” says Sirius, brightening up a bit. Matching her conspiratorial tone, he adds, “very understandable.”

Harry arrives a bit later, with Dorcas, and as soon as he steps through the Floo Molly Weasley drops a whole bowl of punch. It shatters dramatically and Sirius loses it entirely. The punch takes ages to clean up properly because every time someone new enters the kitchen they are faced with Harry being alive.

Harry’s friends stay close to him, help him with questions, and Dumbledore tries to get the meeting started three times before he gives up. It’s not like it matters how he did it, as long as they’re sure this time he’ll stay gone, Emmeline would prefer to never think of Voldemort again. 

“No I think I’ll be going back,” she hears Harry tell Remus and Sirius, she holds her breath while trying not to look like she’s eavesdropping. He’s been going back and forth about returning to Hogwarts these past days. “But after summer,” he says. “And only if I don’t have to repeat the year.” She sighs with relief. He won’t have to repeat the year, he’s been keeping up with the reading Hermione and Ron tell him about, he’ll be fine. He’d be fine either way, of course. He’s not alone. 

When the four of them pass through the barrier at platform 9 ¾ , a bit early because Emmeline was stressed and Harry was eager. It feels a bit like none of this is real. It’s the first of September, Harry will start his final year free from the burden of the prophecy. They’re all uncomfortably aware of how they’re being stared at, so Marlene hisses: “Don’t worry Harry, I’m sure Hedwig will happily bite anyone that gets too close.”

He laughs, and his friends arrive, and he straightens up, stands tall and bright-eyed and ready. They wave at the train until it’s gone, and then get to walk away wrapped up in each other. “Do you think we could convince him to take over the shop?” Emmeline wonders out loud. “Would it make him stay?”

Molly Weasley hears, and turns around to smile at her. “It means you’ve done well, when they feel safe enough to go.”

And maybe that’ll just have to do.


End file.
